


White Queens and Black Swans

by not_who_we_are



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Bottom!Erik, Brotherhood of Mutants, Canon Compliant, Dark!Charles, Dominant Charles, Lots of Angst, M/M, Post Beach, Post-Canon, Snow Sex, did I mention the angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_who_we_are/pseuds/not_who_we_are
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after Cuba, Charles's X-Men and Erik's Brotherhood go toe to toe.<br/>The two must deal with all that has gone unsaid once the force of the professor's rage is revealed.<br/>Things will never be the same, and no one will escape unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alernun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alernun/gifts).



> Written for the lovely alernun. Her prompt caused my mind to wander to sad and desperate places.  
> Hope you enjoy, dear!

The wind cuts like a knife. The cold is so bitter and consuming that it makes Charles’s bones ache. The sun adds no warmth. It seems to only aid the blinding chill. 

Charles hates the cold. He hates the snow. The brilliant white drifts that surround them only serve to remind him of Russia. Looking back, as he does on a near constant basis, he is now certain that was the day he lost him. 

Crouched on the hill, overlooking the fortified mansion, he should have said his goodbyes then. Because what came after is nothing but a sensational blur leading up to what he supposes had always been inevitable. 

That day in Russia Charles should have clasped his friend’s hand solemnly and bid him farewell. Because that day, as the metal bed frame slithered around Emma Frost’s throat, Erik was as good as gone.

Charles thought that his chair would be end up a constant reminder of his loss. Or even memories of sandy beaches. But no; it was the snow. How Raven had loved the snow…

Even while lost in thought, Charles is keenly aware that the group is no longer alone in the clearing. Beast senses them soon after. He can then hear as Havok repositions his feet, attempting to plant himself in readiness. Banshee’s breathing becomes shallow. Cyclops places a hand on Charles’s shoulder. He absently waves him away as he catches a bright blue flash out of the corner of his eye.

He’s felt Raven since the Blackbird touched down, but seeing her, even a small glimpse, still manages to send his heart right into his throat. With his team assembled behind him, Charles is in no way anxious about the rendezvous. But his hands are clenched in clammy fists and his concentration wavers ever so slightly. He is terrified to see them.

It’s as if they know it for they are the last to appear. From behind the tall pine trees steps Emma, sparkling, unreadable, and as smug as ever. With only a slight disturbance to the surrounding air, Azazel puffs into the clearing. Riptide, and Charles has never gotten used to calling him that, but it seems they’ve all just fallen into using these monikers, seems to have been right behind Emma. And now all three just stand there, postures battle-ready, even though he has been assured this is not that kind of meeting.

Charles knows Erik is here. Not just because he was the one that contacted Beast, that called this gathering. But because he can sense him, or rather, the lack of him. Even when Emma hardens herself, she still gives off some kind of shimmer, something that tickles Charles’s senses. But not Erik. If you want to find Erik you look for the absence of anything. A hole. 

Raven slips soundlessly into the space, her bare feet crunching through the snow as she takes her place beside Azazel. She never makes eye contact when they meet like this. It’s been more than two years and she still can’t look him in the eye. Charles doesn’t know if it’s her own shame, or her disappointment in him that keeps her gaze fixed on the ground below. It doesn’t matter, because it wrenches his guts either way. He won’t look inside her mind for the answers he so desperately seeks. Maybe someday she’ll simply tell him.

And just as his heart rate is beginning to normalize, there he is: Erik. He stays behind the group, at the edge of the tree line. And Charles has to stifle a bitter chuckle. In lieu of laughing in earnest at the tableaux before him he breaks the silence.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Nothing.

“I say, Erik, you’re the one who called this gathering. Was it so we could all be entertained by your magnificent brooding skills?” 

“Watch your tone, Professor.” And Emma is stepping to the head of their little menagerie. 

“I’m sorry? Or else what, Emma? We really haven’t the luxury of standing around all day... in the snow. You might—“

“Doesn’t look like you’re doing much standing…” The jab leaks out of Azazel’s mouth before Charles can pause. If the silence was heavy before, it’s deafening now. 

Raven takes what can almost be described as a leap back, and away, from the teleporter. She is angry, but does her best to keep up appearances. They are a united front after all. Charles is selfishly pleased by her reaction although he himself doesn’t really care. He counts himself lucky that all he lost that day was the use of his legs. Well, maybe not _all_ …

He glances down at the chair. Beast has come up with a truly magnificent design that emits a pulse, almost a field of energy, allowing the chair to hover. It’s quite remarkable and really quite necessary when Erik calls meetings in Nova Scotia. 

Erik stalks towards Charles, shooting Azazel a look that doesn’t require telepathy to read. This also sends a quick burst of satisfaction through his chest. It doesn’t last long because Erik is now glowering down at him, with a distant, shielded stare that is somehow colder than then biting air. 

“Did you have to bring all your children, Charles?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Oh, but that’s where we differ. These are not my students, children to stroke my ego or do my bidding. They are my equals.”

Erik takes another step forward and this is apparently close enough because Cyclops puffs out his chest and lunges to step between the men. 

“That’s fine, Cyclops.” Charles waves him back. 

“But, Professor—”

“I said it’s fine, Scott!” The only one who seems surprised by Charles’s raised voice is Charles. “Erik just can’t help himself. Being self-righteous is second nature. Isn’t that right, Erik?”

The bitterness in Charles’s voice is as thick as molasses and he isn’t quite sure where it’s coming from. Perhaps it’s the close proximity of the man. Or the thoughts and desires of those behind him to “protect” their professor. More likely it’s because of the nearly imperceptible flinch, followed by the flash of crippling pain that crossed Erik’s face at the mere mention of Charles not “doing much standing.”

“This is bullshit, Magneto. Let the idiots burn. We owe them nothing,” Azazel huffs out.

“You really need to watch your mouth today.” And the words belong to Raven. Charles doesn’t realize until they escape her mouth, and his eyes are swollen with the threat of tears, that he has desperately missed his sister’s voice. 

He can’t look at her, because he is certain of the flood that would follow. Seeing her as his opposition is still too foreign and feels wrong. So he lets his eyes slide over to Erik. Which is honestly no better.

“They are mutants, by our own logic they are our brothers. We owe them a warning.” Erik’s words are to Azazel but his eyes are on Charles. “And that is what I’m giving you, Charles: a warning. Your school is being targeted by an anti-mutant organization. Our aim is to take them down from the inside. Mystique has been successfully infiltrating their operation for months, but she can’t stop this. You’re in danger.”

His words seem almost earnest and Charles can’t suppress his indigent smile. A smile that sends pure rage across Erik’s face.

“Oh, thank you, Erik. Is that all? May we be dismissed?”

“Damn your arrogance and pride, Xavier! This is not a joke. These people mean to destroy you. And your precious stable of prodigies!” 

“Since when do you give two shits about us, huh?” Havok’s voice is pitch-black with anger. Charles really shouldn’t have allowed them all to come. Just he and Beast would have sufficed. But they had wanted to. They always wanted to be there when Charles saw Erik and Raven. It was like a shared form of self-torture. 

Erik has no problem ignoring the outburst and soldiers on. “Fine then. I suppose we’re through here.”

And Charles may be imagining things, but Erik looks a bit hurt. No, more likely annoyed. Rage, frustration, and annoyance are the only emotions Charles can wring from Erik anymore.

“Let’s get out of here. I can’t stand being anywhere near this pitiful mess,” and Emma is motioning towards Charles. “I know I can’t read you like this, sugar, but you are one, broken, sad little man.”

“Put her on a leash, Erik,” Charles spits out.

And Emma is striding forward, the gleaming facets quickly giving way to supple flesh. “Oh, even with your shields up, Professor, I can _taste_ the want and sadness and sickening rot all over you. You’re weak.”

“Erik! Get her away from me. Emma, if you come any closer I can’t be held responsible for what will happen to you.” Charles’s eyes are wide, not so much with panic, but with a horrified knowledge. 

“Are you going to sic your pets on me? Please.” Emma surveys the bodies perched behind Charles’s chair. “The ginger looks like fun. Can I have him first?” she coos. 

“They only reason I haven’t torn you apart is because the Professor has instructed us not to engage,” Beast growls.

“Count yourself lucky, lady,” adds Banshee, who can’t control the creeping blush staining his cheeks. 

“Emma, cut the shit,” Raven says as Emma continues to inch closer, closing the gap between herself and Charles.

“Stop defending him. He’s not even your brother, Mystique.”

And at that, Charles is undone. 

It has been two years since the beach. Two years since he has spoken more than a few strained words to Raven or Erik. And it has been two years spent developing his ability. 

He knows Emma isn’t prepared. Her guard is down as Erik has most likely assured her the other telepath wouldn’t be stepping out of line. As much as the two men’s agendas have been diametrically opposed, they typically stay out of each other's way.

But not now. Not when his time was being wasted and this absurd bitch was flapping her gums about that which she knows nothing. Now she deserves what she gets, even if it isn’t entirely what Charles intends.

With barely a flick of his wrist Charles sends a solid spike of energy into Emma’s mind. Charles has done this before, and expects the woman to crumple to ground in agony. Except she doesn’t.

The psionic blast, meant to shut her up and get her away from him, shudders through her body. Her limbs shake as though she’s being electrocuted. Charles’s mouth hangs open like a mounted fish. “Well this is new,” he thinks, not entirely displeased by the display. 

Until the liquid begins to dribble out of her ears. And then from her eyes, like steady crimson tears. It’s then that Charles realizes the mental bolt of energy, fueled by rage and hurt, has broken something in Emma. 

It happens so fast, no one has time to react. Not until the lifeless form crumbles in a heap in the snow. The milky limbs and white silk blend into their surroundings seamlessly. That is, except for the blood beginning to pool. 

In an instant Cyclops jumps in front of Charles, blocking the path Erik is quickly cutting towards him. But with the swing of an arm Cyclops is hurled into a regal pine. They’re all wearing some kind of metal. They hadn’t dressed for battle.

Charles, with fingers pressed firmly to his temple, freezes Riptide and Azazel in place. Raven is left untouched, crouching at Emma’s side. “It’s like a scene from some awful tragedy,” Charles thinks distantly. And Raven is looking up at him, shaking her head, lips pursed and eyes sullen. Both Charles and Erik know Emma’s dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes more dark Charles. Also, arguing.  
> Enjoy!

Charles didn’t mean to kill her. And he expects to feel remorse. But he doesn’t.

Even as he sits slumped against a tree stump, wet snow drenching his long wool coat, he can’t muster up one bit of sorrow for the white witch. He remembers an early encounter with “Magneto” and his minions. It was the first time Erik had seen him in the chair. Emma went on and on about how she was the telepath Magneto had chosen to remain at his side. She pranced around vainly and, for whatever reason, seemed to be attempting to make Charles jealous. It just made him hate her. Partially because of the insinuation that she was as powerful as him, but mostly because of the glazed look her words elicited from Erik.

He always got the sense Erik didn’t much like Emma Frost. Perhaps that was wishful thinking though. If not for some affection, why else would her death have sent Erik spiraling into an unhampered rage?

Erik sent most of his team flying with a single swift motion. Beast had charged him, but Raven rushed her former teammate and sent him tumbling to the ground before he knew what hit him. They were a tangle of blue fury against the clean white snow.

Erik had no use for any of Charles’s underlings. They were of no interest and barely a blip on his radar as he used his power, which he had also spent the last two years honing, to rip the chair out from underneath Charles. The startled man fell limply to the ground, losing his hold on Azazel and Riptide. It was then that Erik had hoisted him over his shoulder and commanded his teleporter’s departure.

When, with a _poof_ , they arrived at their destination, Charles was vaguely surprised to see it didn’t seem too far from their previous location. He was also surprised when Erik dismissed Azazel, telling him to tend to Emma. He was even further surprised when Erik sat down on the frozen ground next to where he had placed Charles. 

Where was the swirling rage from moments before?

Erik stayed silent as he placed his head in his hands. The gesture seemed like an odd and vulnerable one. Then Erik pulled his hands away, taking the helmet with them.

“What… what are you doing, Erik?” Charles struggled against the sudden presence of Erik. It seemed all at once that he was everywhere. Charles was certain that the man’s scent would be permeating his clothing if he dared to lift his sleeve to sniff. Erik was so open and so **there**. Charles had not felt him in so long and his return ruffled the telepath considerably. 

“I need you to trust me. I need you to not call out to your X-Men. We need to talk, Charles.”

Except Charles didn’t want to talk. Or have his head swimming with nothing but Erik. These meetings had always been the equivalent of their playing with fire. That’s most likely why they continued the charade. A bit of information here, a vague warning there. It was all so they could keep an eye on the other. Charles had always assumed he would eventually be the one begging “to talk.” But he had never stopped being angry enough to entertain it.

“Oh I do not want to talk to you. I assure you, that is the last thing I want.” Charles was flushed and petulant and desperately trying to use his arms to pull himself away from the figure seated next to him. Except his palms kept slipping on the icy patches.

“Charles, you just killed Emma.” Erik didn’t sound angry. His voice simply carried facts. 

“And she deserved it.”

Erik cringed. “This isn’t you, Charles.”

“What do you know about me?” Charles roared. “How could you possibly think you know anything about me!”

Erik looked stung. 

“Oh please spare me your downcast eyes and tightly knit brow.” Charles waved his hand dismissively and turned his head. Averting his eyes was the closest he could come to escape.

For a long moment there was nothing but silence. Charles considered simply slipping inside Erik’s mind, but he ultimately chose not to. Because it seemed that’s what Erik wanted. He was not about to give that man anything he craved.

At that thought he spat “Is this your play at forgiveness?” Charles offered a cruel chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, you know what, Magneto,” and Erik flinched at the title, which was the intended reaction, “no, you are not forgiven. In fact, the mere sight of you makes me wretch. Bring me back to the jet.”

Charles was somewhat surprised Erik had remained quiet for as long as he had. His outburst was inevitable.

“You self-important bastard. What a loathsome creature you’ve become. Emma was right—”

“Emma? Emma was right? About what, exactly? Me being a ‘sad little man?’ I’m sorry I’m sad, Erik. I’m sorry I can’t sit here and chit chat with you about the fucking weather!”

“I didn’t think…” Erik blinked deliberately, blindly groping for words.

“You didn’t think, did you? What did you expect? You’d sit me down and we’d have a laugh like old times? I killed your telepath, your playmate. And now you've taken to blowing up buildings for Christ’s sake. I don’t know who _you_ are!”

“The feeling has never been more mutual,” and Charles is slightly relieved, but oddly saddened when Erik punctuates his statement by rising to his feet.

Charles’s anger seemed to rise with him. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

“No. It’s the truth. What have you become?” It was a genuine question that he seemed to want an answer to. Erik was groping again, his eyes searching Charles’s as if desperately looking for someone who had long since gone. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen your face in over two years,” and Charles’s words were uttered absently, without direction or purpose. They were a string of letters left to blow in the breeze. “Take me back to my team. Now.” 

Something flickered in Erik’s eyes and the anger Charles had been anticipating since this started; since Emma had stopped twitching; since Erik had hauled him off like he was King Kong and Charles Fay Wray; since the day a single hand held a myriad of missiles at bay; the anger was back. And it was all directed at Charles.

“Your _team_?” Erik was all spit and venom now. The calm, almost pleading man was dead; long live the striking serpent. “Fuck your team, Charles! Stop fretting over your children and deal with what’s in front of you.”

“How dare you! Deal with what’s in front of me? How was I supposed to deal with anything? You left me there! You both just left me!” Charles had never felt so helpless. He was suddenly aware of the heaviness of his legs, and briefly considered reaching out to Beast or Cyclops. Instead he let his vulnerable state fuel the embers of hatred glowing inside his chest.

“You sullen child. We had no choice. You were the one who made it clear our paths were no longer running parallel. I may have my agenda, but you certainly have yours.”

“My only concern is my school; those children in need of guidance.”

Erik scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “I see the way you treat your ‘team.’ You’ll drive them away… one by one.”

“As I drove away Raven? You? Who are you to sit in your ivory tower and cast your disappointed gaze down on me! You think you are so just, so righteous. You are out for yourself, Erik. As you’ve always been. The only thing that’s ever mattered is your agenda.”

“Like you’re so different? I’ve always been nothing but who I am. Can you say the same, Charles?”

“Oh you fool. You do realize what you’re becoming, don’t you? There is a very thin line between pro-mutant and anti-human. I fear you’re getting nearer to that line. Once you take the final step, where will we be?”

“Charles, you just killed a woman. Are we really so different? We are black swan, outcasts. We are two of a kind.”

“I AM NOT LIKE YOU!”

And with those words Erik was on him. Charles wholly expected to be met with clenched fists. Instead he found determined lips pressing to his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anger sex ahoy!

Charles is dimly aware of how cold he’s become.

The icy prickling of the snow may not shoot through his unfeeling legs, but it effectively lowers his body temperature.

Charles isn’t fully aware of the aching cold until there is a warm body being smashed against him.

When Erik pulls back, braced against the stump Charles is leaned against, his face is dark and questioning. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Charles’s voice has unfortunately become panicked and shrill. 

Erik moves as if to pull back completely. Charles grabs his wrist. 

The firm grasp of fingers around Erik’s almost delicate wrist is electric. Both men’s breathing quickens. “Don’t play with me.” Charles’s words are heavy, almost a threat, as his eyes bore into the face hovering inches from his own.

“I’m not playing, Charles,” Erik rasps out, and his lips are again pressing franticly to Charles’s, who pushes him back with his free hand. 

Charles holds him at bay with that steady hand. “Then what is this?” His tone is hushed and if words could have color, his would be the shade of a midnight sky. 

In answer, Erik lets himself straddle the pinned man fully, face nuzzling Charles’s throat and hair. Erik’s breath hitches and he grinds his hips down. “You smell just as I remember, Charles.”

And Charles can’t help but sigh into those words, and those warm, dragging kisses, and the heat. Until it’s all suddenly too much and Charles is screaming.

“Get off me. Get the fuck off me, Erik.” Charles’s tries to scramble away, but has nothing to grab on to. Except Erik.

“If you want to leave, call out. You don’t even have to use your mind. They’re all very close, Charles. They’re all looking for you.”

Erik’s tone is calm and menacing at the same time. His eyes are cool and his lips quirk into a smirk.

With both hands Charles pulls the smug face to his own, kissing Erik breathlessly, furiously, angrily; gasping out, “I hate you,” in between. 

Erik makes a small strangled noise as Charles licks into his mouth. His impassioned tongue reaching desperately, as if he’s trying to crawl inside.

There is no space between the two men as they lay on the ground. It’s a flurry of grabbing hands and eager whimpers. And as Charles grinds Erik’s earlobe between his front teeth he grits out, “I hate you for leaving me.”

In one swift movement Erik pins Charles to the stump with a hand curled around the recumbent man’s throat. “And I hate you for never asking me to come back.”

Fighting back rage filled tears, the words flow out like he always knew they someday would, and much to his chagrin, Charles is saying out loud what he could barely admit to himself. “You should have finished the job that day. Killed me.”

Erik’s stifled gasp is punctuated by the removal of the hand from Charles’s graceful throat. “But then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

If the contact was frantic before, it’s positively manic now. Erik’s hands grip and pull at Charles’s shirt, running over his chest eagerly. And Charles moans when he feels Erik’s erection poke his abdomen.

“Read my mind,” Erik gasps. “I want you to see—” Charles cuts him off with a well timed suck at the long, pale neck taunting him.

“I won’t.”

“Please…” and Erik whimpers as Charles sucks his collarbone.

“I don’t care.”

“I want—” Charles wonders how long it will take Erik to figure out that he doesn’t really want to talk.

“And I want you to shut the fuck up.” The telepath’s kisses are almost violent and at one point he draws blood as their tongues fight for dominance. 

Erik alternates between sucking in deep breathes of Charles’s skin and moaning unabashedly into his mouth as they exchange furious licks and bites. 

Charles slips his hand between them to rub Erik’s cock. The groan that follows blurs Charles’s vision as he is blinded by pure want.

“Oh god, Charles, please—”

“I thought I told you,” Charles pushes him back, “to shut up.” And although he would never admit it, the loss of Erik’s weight is crushing. “Now take off your pants.” 

Erik’s eyes widen. But it’s not entirely in shock. They look is more of elated anticipation than anything else. And without hesitation, Erik rises to his feet and loosens his belt.

Their gaze doesn’t break as Charles begins to undo his own trousers. He pulls them down slightly. Erik seems a bit befuddled but manages to slink completely out of his pants. He is naked from the waist down and Charles can’t help but stare at his exposed flesh.

“I always knew you’d be gorgeous.” He regrets the words before they’ve completed their journey. But it doesn’t matter because Erik has taken them as an invitation, returning to all but sit on Charles’s lap. It’s only then that the half naked man notices.

Erik tentatively reaches a hand into Charles’s already unfastened coal gray slacks. His cold, calloused hand grasps firmly around the telepath’s painfully hard length. 

Charles knows what’s coming so he spares them both what would surely be endless minutes of Erik stammering and skirting. “Yes, my dick is hard. Yes, I can get an erection. I can come. I can have sex. I just can’t walk.” It comes out slightly more annoyed than he meant it, but for all the pressing passionate want he feels, it’s all tinged with anger. So he swats the invading hand away.

But Erik doesn’t seem to care, showering Charles’s already swollen lips with bruising kisses. “I want you to read me, Charles,” he blurts out. “I want you to know how badly I want this. Want you.”

Frustration, resentment, contempt, and a host of other inelegant emotions rush through Charles. He wants to sink his teeth into Erik’s flesh and pull back taking a chunk with him.

Instead he grabs roughly at the bare cock that has taken up residence between them. He jerks it harshly trying to ignore the frantic gasps that escape the man perched on top of him. 

“I will not invade your mind. If you want me to know so badly just fucking tell me.”

Erik groans and wiggles and tugs at Charles’s coat, but he doesn’t speak. 

Charles only moves his fist faster, roaring out, “Tell me! Tell me about all your want!”

The moans and the words all mix together and rush out of Erik’s slack mouth in something close to a wail. “I’ve always wanted you.” gasp “You’re all I’ve…” gasp “I’ve wanted…” gasp “this” gasp “wanted you since you first entered my mind.”

Somewhere inside Charles a small voice cries out “me too” but his own voice quiets it immediately and all that rings through the forest is “then why did you leave me!”

Erik’s body is tense, his muscles pulled taut and Charles figures he is nearing climax. So he lets go of the now dripping, rock hard length.

Erik is visibly disappointed, but not deterred, reaching again for his companion’s erection. And again, his hand is brushed away. So resumes the cycle as the mewling and begging begins anew.

“I’m sorry. Just… please,” he tugs Charles’s towards him with a firm grip on his hair. “Let me show you. Please.” He’s begging and it’s not becoming, but Charles makes no move to stop him. “I didn’t want to. My words… God Charles, these words mean nothing. Just look,” he pleads breathlessly, hands grabbing at every part of the man he’s sitting atop. 

“You want me inside you so desperately?” Charles moves his hand, the one that had been absently resting in the snow trying not to roam all over the lithe body squirming on top of him, to his face. Without breaking eye contact, he spits, loud and vulgar into his palm. Without blinking he smears the warm, slimy fluid over his cock. Without breathing he shifts Erik just so…

And Charles pulls the man’s body flush against his own, his dick now firmly planted in Erik’s ass. Erik cries out in a strangled, distant sort of way, but he immediately begins working himself up and down Charles’s shaft.

“Is this what you wanted?” Charles chokes out, his voice steely and cold. 

“God, yes.” Erik is almost incoherent and his knuckles are white with the strength of his grip on Charles’s lapels.

“Tell me then. Make me believe you.” Charles tries to control his breathing, to keep it from betraying him. But Erik is riding him hard, slamming himself down onto Charles over and over… 

“Your face. I dreamt of your face.” The grip Erik now has on Charles’s bicep is borderline painful. “You saved me,” he gasps out as pleasure ripples through his body.

Erik moves to bury his face in the crook of Charles’s neck, but he is promptly pushed back to his seated position. “I don’t believe you. Why did you leave me then?”

Charles is close to coming because, even in the face of the biting accusations, Erik just doesn’t seem to want to let up. He looks almost innocent with his eyes clamped shut, using Charles’s unmoving body for pleasure. For a moment the telepath lets himself enjoy it. His hand finds Erik’s straining cock and pumps it almost leisurely. His face looks lovely hovering above Charles and distantly he pretends they had always had this; that things hadn’t played out the way they did.

“Why didn’t you ever,” and Charles is groaning, searching for words, “ever tell me?” His free hand strokes over Erik’s cheek. “You had to know…” he trails off.

Erik gazes down through slitted eyes as he franticly works himself up and down Charles, sweat dripping from his temple despite the freezing climate. “Know what?”

Charles curses him for being more coherent that he’d previously thought. But he’s so close and Erik is so heavy on top of him that he answers honestly. “Know I loved you.”

The sound that escapes Erik’s mouth, shot out like a cannonball from his lungs, is somewhere between a howl and an anguished moan. What follows it sends Charles over the edge. “And I loved you,” and it rushes out as one long word punctuated by groan as Erik comes all over Charles’s shirt.

As Charles rides out his own orgasm, Erik’s head now successfully planted by his neck, he whispers, “then why did you leave me?”

This time, Erik has an answer: “Because I knew you would have eventually left me.”


End file.
